


"D'ya wanna hook-up?"

by gropingniall



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: F/M, Smut, drunk smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gropingniall/pseuds/gropingniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“D'ya wanna hook-up?” </p><p>   The question comes as a bit of a shock to Michael.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"D'ya wanna hook-up?"

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I haven't written smut in literally ages so I make no promises that this is any good. Originally I was going to post this on my tumblr (www.clifforno.tumblr.com) but I felt a bit uncomfortable with the idea since the 5sos tumblr follows me and all, so. Anyway, I'm sorry for any grammar/spelling errors! I hope you enjoy (: 
> 
> I recommend listening to this while reading: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUGzY-ihqWc

“D'ya wanna hook-up?” 

The question comes as a bit of a shock to Michael. 

She seems serious about it though. Pretty lips slicked with alcohol, brow arched expectantly, head cocked to the side. He'd expected her to laugh after because, _Jesus_ , it's _her_ , and she's never serious about anything that she says.

It takes a second for Michael to process the situation; her with her lips around the top of a beer bottle (holy _shit_ ), where her black dress ends a good distance above her knees, the seriousness in her tone, the dim light of her room, the messy display of her bed, and the empty bottles of beer around them on the floor. 

“Seriously?” He asks, jaw slack. 

She snorts and swallows, “Yeah. I mean, we stole alcohol from that shitty party without getting caught, might as well celebrate by fucking each other, right?” 

They're both drunk. Not like stupidly, out of their mind drunk, but apparently drunk enough. “Alright, um,” He agrees. He takes a few more drinks and so does she, and he totally doesn't watch how her throat looks when she swallows, and he definitely doesn't think about the tons of hickies that he could easily suck into her pale skin. Except, he does. 

She removes her leather jacket first before she scoots closer to him, their knees bumping together at their cross-legged sitting position. Michael swallows.

“Um, should we like-”

“Don't seem so nervous, Clifford. I've seen you flirt penty of times. C'mon, man up,” she says jokingly, running her fingers gently along his collarbone where it peaks out from his loose _Iron Maiden_ tee. Michael lets out a laugh like a puff of air as if it had been forced from his body. 

Michael's not nervous. He's never nervous. 

“Not nervous. Just, ya know, preparing myself.” 

“Oh, I see.” 

He nods and she leans closer, tilting her head up to press her mouth to his. It's clumsy at first, they both can't figure out where their hands should go, their noses bump together mutliple times, their lips don't quite fit right, and they end up laughing into each other's mouths a few times. It takes a moment to get it right. They start slowly, gently pressing their lips together, then using their hands to pull each other closer, then fitting their lips together. Michael nearly looses it when she swipes her tongue, hot and wet, over his lips. Michael freezes up for a moment and she groans, moves her hand to the back of his neck just below the base of his skull to urge him on as if she saying ' _c'mon, kiss me harder damn it_ '. And he does. 

He kisses her back with the same pressure she's kissing him with, uses his hands to keep her head in place, tilted at the perfect angle. He pecks her lips multiple times, sucks on them, leaves her mouth swollen and red and slick with spit when he pulls away. Both of them are breathing hard, chests rising and falling, cheeks tinged pink. She's still got her fingers curled in the hair at the start of his skull and his are still cupping her jaw. His chest feels oddly warm and heavy and he doubts it's from the alcohol. 

“You're a really good kisser,” she says, breathing hard. Michael scans her face and nods, doesn't say anything, just leans back in and kisses her again, hooking his arm around the small of her back and signaling her to follow his lead as he leans up from his sitting position onto his knees. They're pressed together tightly, chest against chest, waists bumping together, and Michael can feel his cock twitch at the contact. 

“Bed?” She asks. She tilts her head to the side when Michael begins kissing down her neck, sucking on a patch of skin just below the hollow of her throat. He can hear her breath catch in her chest. 

“Yeah, _shit_ , yeah,” he replies. They clumsily get to their feet and land on the bed in a tangle of limbs and pounding hearts and giggles. Michael works his mouth against her collarbones, fingers tugging the dress down over her breasts, over the curve of her waist, over her rounded hips, and she kicks it off to the floor. 

“You're wearing too much,” she says, voice dropped, and then begins to yank his shirt up with one hand and work the button of his jeans with the other. Michael raises up and slides his shirt off and lets her undo his pants. He's a bit embarrassed by the outline of his cock in his pants, and he rolls his eyes at her when she looks up at him with a taunting glint in her eyes. 

“I'm surprised, y'know, with the consumption of alcohol and all.” 

He reaches down and grabs her wrists, pins them down above her head, and rubs their hips together, creating a friction so incredible that he moans on contact, and she spreads her legs wider and arches into him. He stills himself above her and swallows, then presses himself against her again, and his cock twitches against the fabric of his boxers. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” 

“Shit, really wanna fuck you,” he mumbles, dragging his lips down her chin, down her neck, down the valley of her breasts, and back up to her shoulder. She nods and presses up into him again, shifting so she can rub herself against him. 

“Shit, stop,” he tells her, jerking his hips away. She grins. 

He smiles, lip tucked under his teeth, and reaches down between them, fingers sliding down her stomach, over her waist, across her hips, down the curve of her ass, and _finally_ hooking into her underwear and tugging them down slowly. She took her bra off and allowed it to land somewhere on her floor while Michael began pressing soft, open mouthed kisses just below her bellybutton, and right above where he was ultimately headed. He felt her thighs shift, noticed how she arched forward just a bit more as his kisses got lower and lower. 

“Michael, shit,” she says desperately, her fingers winding into his hair again as he makes the first contact with her clit. He licks once, watches her reaction- how her thighs shiver, how her eyes screw shut, how her fingers clutch his head and pull him closer. “ _Oh_ ,”

He slips his hands under her ass and lifts her up, circles his tongue around her clit, licks up and down, teases her until she's a mess of mumbled words and heavy gasps. Michael fucking loves it. He loves how he's doing this to her and how he's got her, of all people, desperate for him. 

“Feel good?” He askes her, watching her.

“ _God_ , yeah,” 

The tone of her voice, all low and rough, makes his stomach tighten because _holy shit_ , his name would sound so good leaving her mouth in that tone. He can imagine it perfectly, and it makes his cock jerk a little.

He takes a minute, pauses to take her in and despite looking completely wrecked that she looks utterly gorgeous, like to the point where Michael could waste his time telling her over and over again until she got tired of it and told him to fuck off, which is exactly what she would do. 

“Michael, please,” 

He swallows hard and nods, ignores his heart picking up, and raises up to slide his boxers off carefully. His cock slaps up to his stomach, thick and heavy, red and wet at the tip. She eyes him and for the first time during sex he doesn't feel the need to try to hide himself because he's more than comfortable with her, kind of likes the fact that she's staring at him and waiting for him to fuck her. 

“Where're the condoms?” He asks. She points to her purse and tells him she has a few stuffed in the side pocket. You know, safety first since sex can happen at any time, any place.

Once he's got one, he tears the foil open and carefully rolls the condom over himself. He strokes himself a few times at the base and eases back down on top of her, nestles in between her thighs, his cock rutting gently against her. She moans; he gasps. She grips his upper arms and he guides himself into her slowly, careful not to let his eagerness take over, and he holds his breath the entire time. By the time he's inside, buried deep, feeling her tight and warm around him, it's like everything is slow motion. The build up had been a bit of a rush, but now everything was foggy, blurred around the edges but she was in clear focus now, tipping her head back and gasping when he begins to move. 

“Oh my god, shit, _yeah_ ,” 

She sounds filthy and the moans are pouring out with each thrust. He lifts her leg so that the inside of her thigh is resting against his hip, and his other hand laying at the side of her head, fingers threading through her hair softly as he fucks into her, slow and steady and then a bit faster each time until he's got a good pace going. 

She grips his back, his shoulders, digs her nails in hard enough to make him groan against her neck. Her lips bump against his collarbone when he shifts his left arm into the same position as his right one, her moans pressing into his skin and making him hot all over. It's euphoric, which he thinks is a bit of a cliché way to describe it but, _fuck_ , it feels so fucking good, like one of the best highs he's ever gotten out of sex. 

“ _Michael_ ,” 

“Fuck, I know,”

His stomach is in knots, his muscles taut, and he can feel his orgasm racing toward him, ready to hit him like a train. He slows down and turns his long, deep thrusts into quick, short thrusts, his hips hitting the curve of her ass louder now and. His eyes drift shut as soon as hers do and they both hold each other a bit closer, clinging, moaning, panting, waiting for their orgasms to hit them. 

It's kind of like a sex scene in a movie, Michael thinks as he pushes into her again. It's slow and hazy, fueled with alcohol and teenage hormones, the lighting is dim, and they're completely wrecked.

“Michael, I'm- shit, kiss me please,” she tells him. She's out of breath and her voice is worn. 

But, he kisses her hard, eyes closing once more, and feels her spasm around him, her heels digging into the sides of his ass. Her orgasm leaves her trembling, but she still urges him on, clenches around him and whispers how bad she wants him to come, nibbles on his earlobe until his vision goes white and he freezes, buried inside of her, and uses what strength he can muster to tangle his fingers with hers, presses his face into her shoulder. Every muscle in his body tenses up and then jolts as his orgasm hits him hard, his body shaking, hips stuttering against her. He doesn't breathe through the whole thing, which is why he's a panting mess when it's over. 

When it's over, they're both spent and flushed red, skin damp and their bones like jello.

“Michael,” she says softly, smoothing his fringe over, “you're shaking.” 

He nods and slowly pulls out, “Yeah, 'm good, though.” 

He drops the condom into the trash bin next to her bed and lays next to her. This is where he would definitely expect her to tell him to get lost, she'd call him tomorrow when she needed someone to go with her to get another pack of cigarettes, but instead she snuggles against his side and kisses his damp skin a few times.

“Well, I'm wore out.” 

Michael laughs and agrees with her, then says, “Maybe we should make this a regular thing, huh?” 

He said it in a joking way, but it ends up becoming a regular thing whether they're drunk or not.


End file.
